


stolen dance

by felicity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 26&24, Artist Louis, Christmas AU, Holiday in Handcuffs AU, Humour, Lawyer Harry, M/M, i won't specify so u'll have to read and find out, lilo, louis is mean to liam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicity/pseuds/felicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis is an insane painter, and Harry is his captive.</p><p>(OR: the one where Louis kidnaps Harry for Christmas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> It's based off holiday in handcuffs (highly recommended xmas movie) thanks to jade, and idk i guess it's kinda like semi stockholm syndrome? but yeah I'm gonna be uploading as I write and hopefully i'll get this one done :-) enjoy !! and feel free to tap those kudos and comment buttons

Louis starts off his day like every other, and lately, it’s not necessarily a good thing. This particular morning, though, he’s standing in on his bathroom’s cold tiles and has gloved fingers rubbing Just for Men - Dark Brown into the head of blonde he’d successfully managed to pull off last week, when Niall had dared the drunken twat one year ago— to go as Tinker-bell on his twenty sixth.

 

Nonetheless, he was still quite proud of himself when the skimpy ladies costume he’d ordered on eBay actually fit the curve of his arse quite nicely.

He’d wore it with lipstick and a shitty application of blush, special thanks to his make up guru, Greg, and got himself a birthday kiss from Aiden, and a spank that was actually far too suggestive for someone that had accidentally forgotten his birthday present at ‘home’.

He’s not materialistic and he’s not five. He’s not, and he wasn’t upset because Aiden actually genuinely forgot it, he was upset because Aiden’s a bastard and there was no present to start with and well. He refuses to think about his boyfriend’s lack of enthusiasm towards him right now. He doesn’t have the time for this. And he definitely doesn’t care. He can’t afford an argument when they’re going to be spending Christmas together.  

(He does care, he’ll call him out once it’s December 27th)

When he’s slipped the grand floral shower cap over half his forehead, he creates a maze through the unbelievable amount of clothes and just absolute garbage that covers half the flat. All to pull open the fridge door, remove a box of leftover thai from two nights before, and efficiently heat it up with the pre-plugged in blow dryer hitting hot air beneath it, when his first attempt to turn on the stove fails.

He’s always been a man of great logic.

And even though it’s really only twenty to seven and he’s suffering a minor hangover, he has a job interview at his Mark’s friend’s company Mark had embarrassingly put in a special word for, and he can’t afford to miss it. Fifty five minutes to get himself together and get there on time is probably not enough, but Louis convinces himself otherwise.

It’s then that his phone goes off from the other side of the room, and Louis abandons the box of noodles on the counter, almost trips over his own feet to grab it, unlock the screen, and trap the device between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey mum,”

“Hi Louis,” Jay says, and he sucks in a breath to prepare himself for what’s to come. “We’re just getting organised here, we had to bring everything, you never know with a rental.” She’s rambling, and Louis wants to shoot himself, “Mark and I are doing seating arrangements for dinner, so I just wanted to make sure Aiden’s still coming with you?”

Louis scoffs as if he’s never been stood up his entire life, “Of course he is,”

He’s back at his closet now, and he’s picked out a baby blue button up that he turns on his iron for. The rest of his shirts are piled and scrunched up on the bottom, but he really doesn’t like to talk about that, to be honest. “Cocktails at six, sharp.” She repeats the exact text she’d sent just last night, and Louis mutters a fuck away from the receiver with the brush of his wrist against the heating iron. “I know Mum,”

He’ll take care of the burn later, he thinks, as he lays the shirt on it’s back and traces the iron back and forth over the creases. There’s too many of them.

“We’re so excited to meet him, honey, it’s gonna such a special Christmas. You think he could be the one?”

He sighs, “I don’t know, maybe?” He flips the shirt to go over the long sleeves and the cuffs, “hey, Mum, I have to get ready for the interview now, I—”

But being the wonderful person she was, he hands the phone to Mark and there’s really no way to get out of this so Louis takes the opportunity to speak before he does, “Hey, hi, Dad,” He mentally cheers once he’s done with the dress shirt and moves on to the trousers. Forty five minutes left. He can do this. Plus, it’s going to be hidden under a coat, anyway, so he decides it doesn’t matter that much. “Listen, you told Mr Portnoy that I don’t have any sales experience, right?”

“Well you’ve sold lemonade,”

“I sold lemonade when I was ten,”  He whines and Mark cuts him off, “Alright, listen, lad, just don’t take no as an answer and do not leave that room until the job is yours, you hear me?”

Louis nods even though he can’t be seen and switches off the iron, taking a second to scratch at his head through the cap, prior to putting both items of clothing to the side. “Okay, but, what did you tell him I’ve been doing?”

“I didn’t, I just told him you’re a late bloomer,” He says quickly and Louis would have been embarrassed if he had the time to, and Mark’s quick to attempt some damage control, “But, that you’re ready to get your life together. Make us proud, I cant wait to see you, drive safe, bye—“

Louis’ eyes catch the clock in his room as he pushes himself up, the realisation of seven twenty seeping through his bones. Fucking, fuck. He hangs up before he can say another word and sprints his way to his shower.

When steps out and his eyes finally stop burning from getting fucking shampoo in them, and deciding he really needs to pick up baby shampoo one day, he looks in the mirror, runs his fingers through his hair, and- fuck. He’s going to cry.

His hair’s fucking ginger.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say except for the fact that here's where it really starts. and the chapters should hopefully get longer as i go on. enjoy x

Louis paints. He’s worked part time as a cartoonist before, has sent in politically controversial ones to the local newspaper, had them published and actually received some encouraging feedback. It’s what he does for a living, art, and though he’s earnt more from Payno’s Diner than the total of three thousand pounds he’s earnt ever since the start of his visual arts career, it doesn’t mean he won’t keep trying.

When he finished that last semester at the University of Manchester, money wasn’t the first thing on his mind. Passion’s what’s dropped him into this downwards spiral, and though not everyone is appreciative of it, he dreams of being able to change that.

The concept sounds decadent in his head, even he’s a million light years away from it all.

He knows he’s good at it, though, it’s his specialty to brush the bristles against a canvas with splashes of red and cerulean and turquoise, spread to create pieces that reflect on everything that can’t be freely expressed with words. Whether it be landscapes or a distorted portrait of President Obama, he thinks it speaks way more more than any verbal description would.

But that’s probably just him, considering his parents have held a constant grip on his throat, in hopes of the false perception they hold of a real job, and a serious boyfriend. They’ve been on his back ever since he chose art as his major, poking him with a stick as if he was a dead fish needing to be resurrected. They don’t trust him, is the thing, and yeah, maybe not all of his decisions have been entirely rational, but. Sometimes, he wishes they’d let go and love him for who he is.

And no, he’s not crazy. Fueling insecurities does take toll, it’s enough to drive anyone nuts. And well, Louis was an artist so- he was already over halfway.

 

He’s probably at three quarters when he turns up to the company five minutes late, and receives the wonderful news of Mr Portnoy being already inside with his next interview.

 

It’s not his fault he’d ended up banging his fists against the glass wall of the office, okay, it’s not his fault he got kicked out. Sales companies are stupid, anyway, he tells himself on the drive to the diner. Though he does somehow end up using Liam to pour out his fury, and makes a comment about how Liam’s new year’s resolution should be to lose some weight because he takes up all the fucking space. (All Liam had done was stand in the back’s door way for around about twenty seconds).

He’s lost it, and he’s bitter, is the thing. And it’s not helping when some kid with around nine years of existence calls him Ginger Brain for getting his order of hot fudge wrong. Louis would love to know exactly how the infant’s parents raised him. He’s never raised a child, but if he ever did, he’d do a much better job.

Aiden is supposed to be picking him up soon though, so maybe he’ll tone down on the insanity, just a little bit.

He’s been dating Aiden for a total of four months, and if he’s being completely honest, he has to shut up a lot because Aiden is barely interested in what he has to say, and when he is, Louis’ devours and savours those moments. He tells him about things that matter to him, tells him about how he’s sent in a few of his works to professional critics as an audition to the art gallery being held in a few months.

It’s those times that his face is lit up the most, and fuck, what a shame it is when Aiden has the audacity to turn up in a stupidly expensive trench coat, only to refuse the hug Louis offers to tell him, “Hey, I think I’m gonna pass on the whole holiday thing,”

 

He’s seriously going to sign himself up at a mental institution.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh just,” Aiden shrugs, and he wants to punch him. He doesn’t have time for this, “I think that’s on a whole new level and I don’t think we’re there yet.”

“Oh, _oh_ , I see.” He says slowly, and his eyes rake the hat Aiden has on his head, and maybe he thinks about setting fire to it with it still safely on the lad’s head. “Well do you think that we could like, maybe get to that level in the next ten minutes?” He’s trying really hard not to yell, he really is, “Because my parents are expecting you to come home with me. “ He says, stabbing a futile index against Aiden’s chest.

Aiden just smiles, bright, and shit-eating, pealing Louis’ finger off. “Sorry,” Fuck him for being patronising, “I don’t think we’re ever gonna get there, sweetheart.“

If dying his hair red didn’t make him cry, he knows this one will, “You can’t bail on me now, Aiden,” He breathes, “I need you.”

He wants to please his family, wants to go home for once, not ruin Christmas, and make them happy, for fuck’s sake, (mainly Jay and Mark), he wants to not be looked down upon for once in his life for choosing art as his life career even though there’s a million things he can do with his degree, and personally chooses to not do so. He needs to make them proud. He needs to fill that void in his heart they’ve created over the past years, and now that he’s finally decided to do something about it, now that he had Jay thinking he was getting his life together, turning things around, it’s all been one disaster after the other and fuck it. really. Fuck it all.He wonders whether avoiding his family for the rest of his life is acceptable.

It’s not.

He’s doing that thing where he tries very hard to not scream in public and relies on being gesticulative instead, and somewhere in the way, when the gestures get too much, and when Aiden says, “You never let me fuck you anyway,” in a way that sounds like he’s excusing his disgusting self for bailing Louis out on Christmas, that Louis’ right hand comes in hard contact against his cheek, hot and heavy, and the whole diner goes quiet.

“Fuck you and all you stand for, you,”

“-Merry Christmas, Louis.”

-

The first chance he gets, he changes A*****’s contact name to Aid(s)en.

Fuck that stupid wanker.

****  


-

Louis is still moping at Payno’s when he feels a tap on his shoulder with a tentative  excuse me.

“Um, my,” The owner of the nice hands takes a breath and looks awfully distressed. He can relate. “boyfriend,” The owner of the nice hands that’d also disrupted Louis filling up sauce bottles says, and if Louis was in the mood to people watch and guess his entire life, the lad sounded like he’d come out a week ago.

Spit it out, you curly headed cunt, he wants to say, and he’s definitely not jealous because this boy gets to have someone to take home and-

“..Was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, and I get that he’s just probably running late, and stuff,” He’s so slow paced that Louis seriously wants to die, “but, have you seen someone that looks like a Nick around here? Like, lanky, nice brows, taller than me, big head, big nose, his face is generally out of proportion—“

Louis cuts him off, sour, “—Nah, mate, haven’t seen anyone that ugly ‘round here today, no offence.”

“He’s not ugly,”

“Right. Did say no offence though.”  Louis defends, and he spends around about a minute staring at the lanky frame in front of him. It’s awkward as it gets, the silence over between them, even though the diner is a buzzing traffic. “Mind if you come to the back with me for a second?”

Reluctantly, the curly headed cunt follows, and though Louis’s grateful for his pliancy, he understands the lack of enthusiasm. On their way out, Louis returns his jacket onto his shoulders, bundles up with a hand knitted scarf, like he’s leaving. Louis sneaks in Liam’s Great Grandfather’s gun that Liam refuses to take off display in his inner pocket too, even though he doubts there’s any bullets inside.

Curly steps out into cold first, hands tucked into his pockets, and when Louis gives him a shove that stumbles him closer to the old parked Jeep, a yelp escapes his mouth. He watches Curly turns to complain, to ask what the fuck is going on, but Louis pulls out the gun, and fuck he’s not cut out for this.

Nose already reddening with the burning cold of December twenty fourth, every exhale comes out as fog and Curly freezes. Trying to remain firm and steady, feet stuck in the light layer of snow blanketing the ground, he says, “Whatever your name is- you’re going to do as I ask and I won’t pull the trigger, yeah?”

“S’Harry,” Harry gulps, and when Louis sees the fear flash across his face, he thinks this might not be as difficult as it feels like it’s going to be.

“That’s cool,” Louis pauses, “but your name’s Aiden from now on.”

Louis knows Harry could easily take control of this inexperienced fuckwit who’s a weak five feet eight against Harry’s strong six two. Being the fool he is though, he stays still as Louis trudges closer to press it against his temple, and carefully moves to the side when Louis tells him he has to open the door.

It’s a struggle, to pull the passenger door open and push Harry in at the same time, but he manages, surprisingly, and fuck.

He realises he can’t leave his captive untied, that’s not how they do it in movies and he’s sure as heck that’s not how they do it in real life either. So he grabs the cloth he finds in the boot, unlocks Harry’s door and-

“Hold onto the handle,” He instructs, glancing at the handle on the side of the roof, just above where the window is.

Harry complies, so he tucks his gun in his back pocket and ties Harry’s wrists to it. Again, Harry has the perfect chance to make a move, but Louis’s too quick and good at this, so he stays put. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t mumble _you’re fucking crazy,_ though.

Once he’s locked the two of them in and started the three hour drive, Louis can’t say he doesn’t agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter's @twinkflames if you have any words of encouragement / feedback. Hope u liked it and thank u :~) xx

**Author's Note:**

> and also my twitter is @twinkflames so hmu if u want x


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